


The Senses

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Agender Character, Humanstuck, Other, Queerplatonic Relationships, Trans Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You met someone who didn't like the city. They surprised you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Senses

You like the city. You like noise and people and the sound of hundreds of sneakers and boots shuffling or stomping the ground, you like the vibrations of the subway under your feet, so you can use those sounds with your guitar when it hums in your hand, and the inspiration is as subtle as the breeze in the park of the faint conversation of two elderly people on the bench feeding the doves. In fact, you love the city.

You grew up on the seaside, where the noise was low key and you could hear your brother practicing on the piano, and you watched his fingers as they curled into a fist and you laughed, and your father could hear it down the long, long hallway with several doors, and yours was the one with stickers and bright “KEEP OUT” signs and pin-up posters, and usually music strolled under the door that didn't quite fit the piano or your dad's gruff, military commands.

You are softer than the rest of the family, your leather is cheaper, and you prefer perfume over cologne.

You moved out when you were eighteen but kept the seashells, so you could listen to the piano playing on the holidays and you sat on the stairway and thought of your guitar strings and your datefriend's hands plucking the unlit cigarette from your lips, and they leave them there for a second and you kiss their thumb as it rests on your bottom lip, until they take it away and put it in their pocket and you put the gum back in your pocket and pop a pink bubble in your father's face and laugh because it reminds you of condoms.

When you found a used condom in your datefriend's bed, where they had never kissed your naked back or said good morning, where they never told you they loved you, you tried to laugh at them but coughed instead because you smoke. So you were single again, and back at your father's house.

After working at a fabric shop belonging to the Maryam family for a couple months, you were fired but had learned enough about how sewing worked to be able to make your own dresses in front of your own father and flip him off with your own goddamn ring-studded fingers. Then you were back on the street, but with cash and grudging promises to invite you over for the holidays.

You bought a bicycle, with a basket you unironically loved, before your first motorcycle, and you rode around the park, like a dog chasing doves among the ugly taxis in yellow sweaters, you fumbled with the buttons and went straight for their neck. You thought about having sex on the bicycle a couple times before you had enough paychecks with your own independent cash to buy a used motorcycle. You loved it. You rode everywhere with it and almost crashed once. Twice. Three times, actually. Almost as much as you had considered having sex on your old bicycle, which you sold to some kid and laughed because you had used condoms in the basket. You rode it to work and you rode it to the bank to get the money you totally didn't depend on from your dad. You rode it to parties and that's where you met someone who didn't like the city.

They lived near the woods when they were a child and they listened to more things than your brother could ever play on the piano. They heard crickets and howling and shuffling in the grass and the frantic smashing of buttons in their sister's hands. You put your hands on their hip and thought about kissing their neck before they told you they were thinking about hanging you. You took your hand away and they laughed at you. They surprised you.

You sat on the couch with them and drank. You looked at their boobs and they grabbed your hand and made you hold them and you almost shrieked, and they laughed some more – cackled, actually, and then they told you their name. Terezi, Terezi Pyrope, and I'm gonna be a lawyer as soon as I stop drinking. Once again, you almost did something; you almost asked about what it's like to be a girl with high ambitions and if anyone ever questions them, like they question you and your aesthetics. Your "I am girly, but not a girl," your "I wear pink on a daily basis and sew pins that say FUCK TRANSMISOGYNY to my motorcycle jacket but I don't think I'm a girl and I'm definitely not a guy." But as soon as the word came out, they took your hand off their boobs and dumped their drink on your white shirt. They didn't cackle, they laughed sternly, and they told you never to call them a girl again or they would, in fact, hang you.

So that's how you found out about being non binary and went, oh shit. That's definitely me.

You took their hand, their not so soft hand that you didn't think of directing to your lips, and you put their hand on your chest. You sat there on the couch together, silent in a noisy room filled with alcohol and strangers and you were a stranger to them covered in their booze, with each others hands on your boobs. Terezi made some joke about home grown boobs but went quiet when you rattled off some metaphor about how bodies are gardens. No one ever takes your casual poetry seriously. They did.

You wanted to laugh but you were focusing intently on their cup fallen to the floor. They nodded. They smiled, you smiled. Both of you were fucking drunk as hell and you'd just met the best person in your life.

You became roommates, and you didn't need your father's money that much anymore. You shared bras with Terezi, you shared a roof with Terezi, you shared a popcorn bowl and even your poems with Terezi. You played the guitar for Terezi, you stomped on the busy feet of people who made jokes about you being Terezi's guide dog, and you loved Terezi in the most platonic way and you wanted to do this forever with Terezi. But they hated the city, and they couldn't go back to the woods because they had school to attend. 

You like Terezi. So you showed them your shells, and they were soft as they listened to the seaside you both couldn't live next to. You could wear dresses with Terezi and you would still be Cronus, and you were still next to them as they kept the shell next to their ear and you stayed still. You were silent in the city and all the noise you needed was their soft breath, their calm chest slowing down until they were asleep, and sometimes they snored but that was the best sound in the world. In fact, you love Terezi.


End file.
